Farewell
by Spidershadow5
Summary: As one of their own passes on, the warriors of the multiverse gather to pay their respects to their fallen comrade. Now with a Dramatic Reading! /watch?v -5vATzxLDAc


Nothing is said among the assembled warriors as Master Hand reads the news. They've all experienced death before, especially the huntress, but this is different. This is one of them, the greatest fighters of the multiverse, who has fallen. It's been only a few years since they've seen him, and they've all aged, but he has already passed on. Nobody can think of anything to say.

The plumber asks the question they've all been wondering. As hard as it will be, they all have to be there. Just to see him off. Master Hand agrees. It will be held tomorrow, and they will all be in attendance. Some of the less than savory characters among them seem to be a bit annoyed, but make no objections. This is not the time.

* * *

They pass through the portal to his world. He'd always been pretty private about his home, never speaking to much about his past, or any of his friends. Some of the heroes knew a bit more, as they had grown close to him in the time they'd had together. He'd lived a hard life as a soldier, born from unnatural experiments, and nearly every encounter with his father had ended with a battle. He'd believed in the greater good, wanting to defend the innocent, but refused to be called a hero. His body had started to fall apart before its time, all because of the way he'd been brought into the world. His death, however, had been a simple passing in his sleep.

The sight of the funeral is a plain, grassy hill, far away from the wars he'd always fought. Open casket, as he'd requested that people see him one last time. Not as a boost to his ego, but perhaps to cement his identity. He was not a clone; he was his own man.

His few remaining friends look up as they arrive. They'd heard stories of the tournament from him, despite the ridiculousness of the idea. Otacon and Meryl had briefly met a few of them before. However, they merely nod in the direction of the assembled warriors, who begin to take their seats. This is a time for mourning, and no words need to be said.

There is no pastor to give a sermon. He never would've wanted one, anyway. In the empty space, Otacon gets up to say a few words. He keeps it simple, the way the soldier would've wanted it. He does not glorify his friend, raising him up to the pedestals of gods. He merely notes all of the things the dead man once did, praising his insight that allowed him to find something to believe in throughout his dark and troubled life. He is unable to finish, as the tears begin to stain the podium. He eventually sits down in grief.

Meryl is up next. Unlike Otacon, her words are of praise, giving the dead soldier all the honor he'd earned in life ten times over. Were he still alive, he would've scolded her for her final gift to him, but she finds she does not care. This man deserved all of this and more. She sheds tears as well, but her voice remains strong and steady. She finishes after what feels like hours, even if it was only a few minutes.

All of the assembled warriors stand. They don't want to give individual speeches. After what has already been said, anything they could say feels like little more than a pathetic attempt at a tribute. Rather, they merely want to see the dead man one last time, and say their good-byes before returning to the mansion.

They fourth generation warriors do not enter the line they form. They had only met the man in visiting trips, and knew he was worthy of their respect. However, they are unable to give a proper farewell to a man they barely know. It's best to let the others do what they desire.

The first, second, and third generations merely pass by the casket in a single file line. A glance at the dead man and a touch of the cold wood are all they take. He is old, his hair having grayed before he reached middle age. His skin has shriveled, yet his body still holds the same strength they once fought besides. These small observations are enough to send flurries of memories to their minds.

The plumber is first, though not by choice. The others just give it to him. He looks down at the old man, sighing as his mind drifts back to their first encounter. The soldier was strong, and the man in red had once again correctly judged the character of a warrior. He places one hand on the forehead, whispering a silent prayer before moving on.

The king of the jungle recalls how much they had in common. Both were inheritors of their title, carrying on the legacy of a predecessor. While he may not have be the most civilized creature, the ape still understands, and hangs his head in mourning.

The warrior, the chosen one, often fought with him over etiquette. Whereas the warrior was polite and silent, speaking only when spoken to, he was brash, talkative, and never kept his voice silent when something needed to be said. In some ways, the warrior admired that in him. As different as they were, he acknowledges the dead man as a fellow soldier, more than worthy of his title.

The huntress clashed with him the most, as his flirtations, however halfhearted, got on her nerves. Despite this, she, too, had experienced great tragedy, and felt him as a somewhat kindred spirit. Noticing the aging marks on his body, she looks at her own face, still flawless after all these years due to her unique DNA, and wonders if she is blessed, or cursed.

A green dinosaur, innocent and childlike, makes none of it's cheerful chirping noises. The soldier had been good to him, even apologizing after it swallowed his explosives. It was the same kind of gentle, yet formidable master it had experienced in one other.

Despite the time that has passed, the Star Warrior is still an infant by his species' standards, with over two-hundred years of his life passed. Yet, even he feels the emotions of grief and loss as he silently surveys the dead man lying before him. He makes a quick jump to touch his pink stub to the man's still hand, then walks away.

A mercenary who had spent his life on the battlefield, the fox fell right in with the soldier. The two would often practice at the shooting range, making light of the gray hair they were both receiving as they got older. However, the fox's hairs are merely superficial, not signs of a decaying body, and he knows it. He carries the guilt in his chest, despite knowing how illogical it is.

The mouse, a perky creature with electricity flowing through it's veins, understands the bonds between people, perhaps more than any of the others. The loss hits him hard, and he merely stumbles past the coffin, with his ears and tail down. He places one yellow hand on the side of the wood, but cannot bring himself to look at the body.

A round, balloon-like creature, she recalls how he burst into laughter the first time he saw her. This laughter was quickly silenced, as she went into battle with him full force, giving him a painful reminder of how appearance makes no difference. She smiles at that memory, allowing the somber mood to lift a little.

The man in green, the second banana, is one of the most silent. The soldier had seen how he had pushed harder and harder to succeed, even as he remained trapped in his brother's shadow. He'd received some guidance from the dead man, learning to reach past his limits, and be more fierce than he ever knew he could be. The man in green only wishes he could've repaid his debt.

For the first time, the racer removes his helmet in the company of the others, revealing his surprisingly ordinary face, as he looks down into the coffin. On any other day, he would've ridiculed the thought, but he can make an exception. After all, the soldier had tried to trick him into showing his face often enough. It was only fair.

Once a young boy, the psychic has now grown into a young man, but still wears the same baseball cap over his skull. Upon reaching the coffin, he holds it to his heart, paying tribute to the man who was once a sort of mentor to him. The soldier had never talked down to him, or treated him like a child in an adult's world. For the first time in his life, the psychic feels like a man.

The former Princess, now a Queen, smiles bittersweetly as she places a hand on the dead man's shoulder. Her tears, normally loud and accompanied by painful sobs, are restrained and silent, though the grief behind them seems greater than ever. The darkness of loss is one she cannot drive away with her pure heart.

Logically, the King of the Koopas should've hated him. After all, the soldier would've stood besides the Mushroom Princess and the plumber against him without a second thought. In reality, the dragon-like beast couldn't help but acknowledge respect for the soldier, like one might respect a worthy opponent. The soldier certainly had given the king a run for his money, thrashing him brutally in their first fight, but still giving the gift of mercy.

The Sage of Wisdom, one of the most stoic and emotionally strong of the team, nearly breaks down at the loss of her friend. Like the warrior, she had different ideas than he about how people should interact, even as she insisted that everybody refer to her by name and not her title. Despite this, she had grown close to him, seeing the beacon of light that was his heart, even in their darkest of times. She barely manages to keep her composure as she passes the coffin.

Even the King of Darkness, loved by no one, is in attendance. He, too, held a grudging respect for the dead soldier, seeing qualities few mortals possessed in him. He touches the coffin with a green hand, but does no more, both for his own pride, and the fact that everyone's eyes are focused on him as he passes through in silence.

His bright blue feathers no longer carrying the same luster they used to, the pilot drifts by the casket. He and the soldier had often conversed about their equipment, and the soldier tried to sneak some of his new age technology out of the mansion. The pilot smiled sadly as he remembered those carefree times, as they were among the few the dead man had experienced in his life.

The Prince, his blue hair even longer than before, merely bows to the dead man before moving on. In their time together, he and the soldier had come to mutual respect. He saw the virtue in the soldier's heart, and saw a man far more worthy than he of ruling. The Prince knew the soldier had never desired that kind of power, but that had only increased his admiration for the man.

Having abandoned their typical parkas for the funeral, the two siblings, never seen apart, walk up to the casket hand in hand. Their bond, an unbreakable chain, had reminded the soldier of people he knew, and had nearly made him weep. The brother and sister, their hearts as kind as ever, had comforted him, and allowed him ears to speak to if he ever needed. In return, he had trained and befriended them, becoming almost like another member of their family. Now, they were down to two, and the tears fell once more.

The two-dimensional figure, so unlike anything natural, shows little change in expression as he walked his way up to the casket, placing a flat hand on the soldier's chest. While most would assume he had no real emotions, they couldn't be more wrong. The flat man knew the soldier well, and had eagerly welcomed him into their fold of heroes. Now, as he hangs his head, the flat man would cry if he were able.

The knight, barely able to reach the top of the coffin, merely salutes the dead man. He recalls their first encounter, how the man had selflessly joined with a warrior he'd never met to stop a seemingly limitless army. He recalls the soldier's honor, how he put aside any quarrels they might've had for the sake of missions, and always acknowledged the knight as a respectable equal. Though the others cannot see his face, the expression is one of heartbreak.

If the huntress faces pain from her prolonged youth, the angel must surely be in agony. Looking for all the world like a teenager, he bows his head in sadness, noting how the dead soldier, so often his sparing partner and friend, had grown to an old man in less than half the time most humans would. He wonders, briefly, if he will have to watch all of his comrades age and die, while he faces the same figure in the mirror each morning for eternity.

The treasure hunter, so crude and grungy, is actually freshened up for this day. He does not touch the dead man or his casket, and simply glances at the soldier in grief. While the two of them never got along, he'd always appreciated the soldier helping plug his micro-games company, and knew, in the deepest pit of his soul, that the soldier was a good man. The treasure hunter turned away from the casket, not willing to allow the others to see him break.

His massive golden sword absent, the mercenary gives his own salute to the dead soldier. He had been a formidable warrior, and the mercenary knew from their first encounter, that they shared values of honor and justice. The soldier could certainly be crass, but never cold, and never cruel. In losing him, the mercenary feels as though he has lost the brother he never had.

The trainer, now a young man, allows his more childish nature to stir within him, allowing the tears to flow like a river. In life, the soldier had been a supporter to him, calling him a true commander at such a young age, and encouraging him and his allies to work harder and harder in pursuit of greatness. The trainer feels his success is owed to the man, just as much as all of the others he befriended over the years.

The chimpanzee is far more quiet than usual. He was never the closest to the soldier, but they were always on friendly terms. He'd always enjoyed showing off his homemade weapons, and the technology, while crude, had always peaked the soldier's interest. Now, the chimpanzee knows he cannot see the soldier anymore, and has to fight to stop himself from breaking down.

Surprisingly, the psychic prodigy is one of the few among them not crying. However, his grief is beyond tears. Both he and the soldier felt great loss in their lives, and the prodigy faced it during a period of innocence in his lifetime. Both had to deal with siblings who had strayed from the path, and bonded over their experiences. For the prodigy, this was yet another loss to heap onto his pile, another beautiful soul taken before their time.

The hedgehog is quiet, and for one of the few times in his life, slow. He and the soldier had been vastly different people, and had not exactly gotten along. As often as they had clashed, the hedgehog always understood that the soldier had faced difficulties he never could've imagined. It reminded him a bit of his lookalike, but the soldier had never allowed his painful past to define him. For the first time in his life, the hedgehog feels he has truly lost a brother in arms.

The King simply places his hands on the edge of the casket, trying desperately not to break down. Like his Star Warrior nemesis, he had grown to respect the soldier's power, and even formed a genuine friendship with him. He wishes he'd been able to express true compassion while the man was still alive. As it was, he'd taken too long to learn his lessons.

Like his older incarnation, the seaman had often clashed with the soldier over their differing measures of displaying respect. However, just like his older self, the seaman had always seen the best parts of the soldier. Perhaps his child's mind had even allowed him to see more, as he still held those idealistic hopes that childhood creates in our minds.

His aura calm, the jackal stands at the casket for a long time, as if trying to feel the remains of the soldier's. Since the first time they met, the jackal was able to feel everything about the man through his aura; his courage, his honor, and his sense of justice. Had it not been for his accursed creation process, he suspected the soldier would've endured for decades longer, and outlived many of them. Resigning himself to the unfairness of life, the jackal merely bows to the soldier, and moves on.

The spaceman, still short and squat, closes his eyes and allows his tears to fall. He is no stranger to loss, as his allies fall in large quantities, even as they are replaced. However, he still mourns every single one, and this is no different. The soldier was his friend, and he would carry the memory of the dead man's spirit and honor to his own grave.

The wolf had tried to avoid making any friends in the mansion. After all, he was a criminal, and he didn't even like any of them. However, he'd failed, and the soldier had been one of people to break through his smug exterior. They'd trained together, pushing each other to improve their skills as much as possible. Now, the wolf stares at the soldier's body with his single eye, before walking away.

The machine is the last to pass by the casket. As the last of his kind, he had mourned the loss of the others, as well as his home. Despite his status as an inorganic, the soldier had held just as much compassion for him, sympathizing with him, sharing tales of lost comrades. The machine eventually gained new purpose, and saw the soldier as a member of his new family. Now that he is gone, the machine is unsure of how to react.

As the portal opens once more, the assembled warriors begin to make their way to it. They would've liked to stay for the end, but the soldier's home friends deserve to have that to themselves. As they pass through the glowing blue vortex, the plumber turns one last time, staring at the soldier's body. He briefly considers speaking, but decides once that any words of condolence he could make would fail to ease their pain. On their own, they would pay tribute to the man they knew. The plumber gives one last wave, then turns around and heads into the portal, vanishing from sight.

* * *

 _Somewhere far away, David, aka Solid Snake, watches as his friends pay their final respects to him. Smiling, he turns, and walks into the light, towards his final rest._

* * *

 **So, there you go. Since Snake's gone from Smash Bros and the Metal Gear series, I thought this would be a worthwhile tribute. I was inspired mostly by Hands, a fic by PitFTW, which I highly recommend. I hope you enjoy.**


End file.
